


Pre-Interview

by thatforgottenbasilisk



Series: tumblr asks [4]
Category: A Heist With Markiplier (Web Series), Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23239324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatforgottenbasilisk/pseuds/thatforgottenbasilisk
Summary: "R25- Wilford and Y/N hehehe" - @coffee-bean-boi on tumblrR25 - “It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka."
Series: tumblr asks [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557526
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Pre-Interview

Sometimes, you wondered how you would always end up in ridiculous situations. Seriously, your life could be something out of a fucking anime with how crazy it could get.

Like now, for example. Here you were, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, across from an empty chair that looked just as uncomfortable as yours, in a room containing a few bookshelves (though none of the books were shelved correctly) and a desk or two. It had particleboard walls, though what really concerned you was the TV in the corner across from you, which displayed nothing but static.

As to how you ended up here, you had no idea. One moment, you were planning your heist with Mark, at an hour that was really far too late to be healthy -- dawn was just breaking and you’d just finished your fourth coffee of the night. You sat down on the ratty old couch that was in the little hideout that you shared with Mark -- and then you were here.

You knew that you couldn’t be dreaming, either; you hadn’t so much as _blinked_ from your spot on the couch before you ended up in this particleboard room.

You checked your watch, to find that it was showing 5:59 AM. Odd, considering the fact that you checked it just a moment ago, when you were still with Mark, and it was 5:03, but honestly, considering everything, it was the least of your worries.

As your watch shifted to show 6:00, a man came bursting out of a nearby door that you hadn’t noticed before, almost as if it was on cue. The man was wearing a yellow button-up shirt under rainbow suspenders, with a hot pink bow tie fastened under the collar. He sported a bubblegum pink mustache, which didn’t match his black hair at all. He wasn’t wearing any pants.

He rushed over to the chair across from you, taking a seat. He looked to your right (his left) and began speaking to what you assumed was a camera -- you refused to look over there. You had a gut feeling that you shouldn’t look, and you tended to trust your gut in situations like these.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, my name is Wilford Wharfstache, here with a spicy episode of Wharfstache Tonight! Our special guest -- the one, the only -- uh ... what’s your name again? Nevermind, it’s far too early for this ...”

The man spoke in an odd slur, moving his mouth far too much to be comfortable. He opened a drawer in the desk next to him, on his right (your left) and pulled out a bottle of vodka and two glasses. He offered you one, to which you indignantly sputtered,

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka!” 

He reeled back in surprise, putting the alcohol and glasses back in the drawer.

“Now this is an intriguing development! Tell me, were you always able to talk, or was your voice in that box?”

This threw you for a loop.

“Yes, I was always able to talk -- what _box_?”

“You know, the one that you went on that daring heist to steal! Action, adventure, love, tragedy ... it was all in that heist!”

You hadn’t gone on the heist yet. You and Mark were still planning it, and the plan still had a long way to go -- you weren’t even sure what you should steal! You were all for nabbing one (or a few) of those paintings that were always covered up, but Mark was a staunch supporter of getting whatever was in that new exhibit. 

Clearly, your confusion must have shown on your face, because the man (Wilford?) leaned back, with an exaggerated version of a pensive expression on his face.

“Perhaps it hasn’t happened yet ... no matter! We will still make this a very interesting episode, ladies and gentlemen -- tell me, what are your thoughts at this stage of the -”

He stopped suddenly, snapping upright (he had begun to lean towards you, in a very exaggerated manner. You were beginning to think that that was par for the course with him), as if alerted by something that you couldn’t hear.

“Well, that’s my cue! Perhaps we’ll see each other again -- don’t be late!”

And everything went black. You were in an empty, black void. You could hear someone, but it was unclear, as if they were speaking to you while you were completely submerged in water.

Slowly, slowly, you began to be able to figure out what they were saying.

“...Y/N? Hey, wake up, c’mon, we still haven’t decided what we’re gonna steal.”

All of a sudden, you saw Mark’s face in front of you, and you were lying on that ratty old couch that was in the hideout, the one you sat down on earlier.

“Hey! There you are. You okay? You just passed out on me, friend.”

You shook your head, trying to wake yourself up.

“Yeah, I’m fine ... just a weird dream.”


End file.
